


The struggle is the sign of holiness . A saint is a sinner that keeps trying

by sugarwick



Category: John Wick (Movies)
Genre: Angst, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, I like pain, Not Beta Read, Sexual Content, Smut in the later chapters, The struggle is the sign of holiness, Violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-11-14
Updated: 2019-11-14
Packaged: 2021-01-30 16:27:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,679
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21431230
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sugarwick/pseuds/sugarwick
Summary: The closes to retirement an assassin gets  is death but sometimes you're really lucky, however luck in this economy is hardly permanent and sometimes John Wick comes knocking on your door.
Relationships: John Wick/Reader, John Wick/You
Comments: 4
Kudos: 31





	The struggle is the sign of holiness . A saint is a sinner that keeps trying

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have absolutely no idea what I'm doing, also I did not beta read anything so my apologies if something is hella mess up

𝐒𝐡𝐞 𝐡𝐚𝐝 𝐚 𝐬𝐭𝐫𝐚𝐧𝐠𝐞 𝐟𝐞𝐞𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐢𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐩𝐢𝐭 𝐨𝐟 𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐬𝐭𝐨𝐦𝐚𝐜𝐡,  
𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞 𝐰𝐡𝐞𝐧 𝐲𝐨𝐮’𝐫𝐞 𝐬𝐰𝐢𝐦𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐠_ &_ 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐰𝐚𝐧𝐭 𝐭𝐨 𝐩𝐮𝐭 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐟𝐞𝐞𝐭 𝐝𝐨𝐰𝐧 𝐨𝐧 𝐬𝐨𝐦𝐞𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐬𝐨𝐥𝐢𝐝,  
𝐛𝐮𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐰𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐫’𝐬 𝐝𝐞𝐞𝐩𝐞𝐫 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐧 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐤 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞’𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞.

_ . 𝐉𝐮𝐥𝐢𝐚 𝐆𝐫𝐞𝐠𝐬𝐨𝐧_

** **

_A million-to-one chances_. Freedom it would seem is unlikely, freedom is a bullet to the head and a gouge out heart, freedom if luck would have it, is buried six feet under garden soil in some nice cemetery with someone mourning your death. Freedom had never been a wife’s gentle smile, a lazy morning in your twin-size bed, it could have never been coffee breath kisses and sleepy daydreams. But John still had _hoped_, a white-knuckled prayer, begging that by some miracle, some intervention, that he be granted this selfishness and for a moment, it would have seemed as though God did exist, that God did forgive even the most sinful, the most wrong of men. John Wick who killed so violently, could love just as intensely. Helen, his freedom, love of his life, his humanity. Where has his freedom gone?

_Oh where has his freedom gone?_ As he bleeds on the pavement, bones just as fractured as his heart. His happiness dissipating as Helen’s eyes fluttered shut, gone forever and existing only in the fragments impressions she had left behind. John had wanted to remember her in quiet peace, dream of her softly till there is no more of him that could. Yet, instead he is breathless and aching. Filled with a rage so overwhelming it keeps him awake even when he is mangled and wrangled haphazardly into a fucking shopping cart and dragged to who knows where. John it would seem hated just as intensely too.

A hatred he had brought when you first met him.

***

A comforting dreary day light, a cold sort of sunlight hitting the vegetation you’ve grown so attentively and how they’ve bloom vibrant across your yard, a planned disorder of lavenders and lemon balms, ginger roots and Rosemary, Fennel, Chamomile and French Taggaron. Too many of greeneries that came to hide your home, came to hide your past.

Once upon a cruel world, you had been dressed to the nines and your hand soiled in blood of ‘no one in particular’, life that had no meaning, people you neither hate nor love, taken because you were told too, taken because it had been your job. Once you were illuminated by bar lights and cityscapes, once you’ve been called adjudicator and just that, but even when you’ve been bred for rules, _bred to follow_. You’ve found yourself longing, gaze that should have been steadfast, fluttering doe eyed and regretful. Killed in glazed eyes, whispered apologies. ‘Rules must be followed’ A mantra you cooed in despair, if they have been alive they could have testified, how gentle you have looked when you murdered, how kind you have gazed upon the outlaws you’ve casted to their deaths.

The Elder had favored you— _he had_ till there is no more of you he could use. Drawn thin till there is no reason to keep someone so terribly _tender _by his side. It breaks his heart really, a casted disappointed that he must part with you so soon. But you’ve smiled so sadly at him, eyes fluttering away from his gaze and looking so, _so far away_. A look only a cage bird makes. It was unfortunate, maybe if you hadn’t said anything, kept your heart a secret even from him. **“If I asked.”** You began and your Elder looks at you gently, fatherly attentiveness as he crowns you with attention, waits for you to talk. **“_If _I asked…”** You repeated, voice softening in hesitance, your heart palpitating against your ribcage it almost hurts. **“If I asked to retire, would you let me?”** Hopeful you have been, naïve when you he had smiled at you and thought, _maybe, maybe, just maybe_. 

The tears you had shed when his men broke into your home that night, when you’ve came face-to-face with your replacement, when she had perform what had been your job. Those tears had not been for your life, not had been because you are put to death You wept because it pained you to swallow the truth, _there had been no freedom for you all along_.

You sobbed. Ugly and hopeless that your adjudicator frowns at you in disgust, wonders how her predecessor could dwindle as weak and fragile as you did, you reminded her of a child, lost in their despair, shrinking into yourself until there is nothing left but a puddle of salt water and ache. She still remembers how you have looked at her then, your final moments wide eyed, lips parted and skin flushed rosy pink. You didn’t look like an adjudicator, much less an assassin, didn’t look like you could hurt anything in your floral sleeping dress and too soft voice. The xencer that had been plunged unhesitant and deep into your abdomen had been equally misplaced, you didn’t look like someone that should bleed into carpeted floor. **“You broke the rules.”** She had said too quietly for you to hear, maybe you would have laughed if you had, after all it was the same line you’ve said over and over again. _You broke the rules_.

And then you woke up. You woke up a kiss away from death, a step closer from what everyone had said is freedom and they were not wrong, death really had been salvation. You had to die to escape and you wonder whether it had been the Elder’s gift, his last act of kindness by execution, though the lethality of your wounds makes you think otherwise. Whatever it may have been, you learn to forget and instead allow yourself to enjoy this luck, _this gift_.

***

A smile made its way along your face, eyes twinkling excited as you picked up a pot of ripened strawberries, _breakfast_ you’ve decided moving it away from the protective wire mesh housing your berries. **“Pancakes or oatmeal?”** You muttered to yourself, excited till a voice came answering. **“Oatmeal darling. Pancakes are too sweet for this kind of morning.”** He ragged in amusement, eloquence of a jester greeting you casually, however when you turn to face your intruder, you find yourself surrounded, guns pointed steadily at your face. Your gaze shifts to each one of them, first at the vagrant that grinned at you playful, you guessed he was the one who answered you, second at the other hatted drifter that seemed to look at you in obvious disinterest or perhaps it was simply weary tiredness and then there was him. The third who wore a suit in spite the ruined state he was in, the third who looked much more hostile and angry beneath the calm he portrays. None of them would hesitate in shooting you, but you think he’d do it the fastest.

**“High table?”** You croak out, expression falling into gloom. John has seen many fall into hopelessness upon meeting him, seen many dwindle into a begging mess and ones he had felt for them, there had been a time when he was sorry, time he felt guilty however much like the rest, experience dulled his sense of empathy, dulled his humanity. It had only been Helen that allowed him to feel human again, that beneath the invisible grime of death that stained his core, there is still something very much human in him, _very much like you_. 

You look like a civilian, what they would call a casualty. You in your sun dress and rubber boots, your gloved hands wrapped around clay pot, you sound like you’ve just woken up, sound like someone who shouldn’t know what a high table is, but John heard the story, heard about the past you’ve so desperately tried to forget. You look at him, stared wide eyed, fluttering scared and helpless but he knows you’re the same as him, the same as the Bowery King that only decided to help because he too have been wronged. **"Do we look like a High Table to you?” **The King mocked, gun lowering but only so he could gesture towards himself and his companion. _They look like a mess_ and you almost smiled at this, John noticed the quirk of your lips and the sigh of relief that escapes you. **“How do you know me?”** Your questioned, expression dismayed and rightfully so. You didn’t want to be known, you wanted to disappear and you had thought you did until these people came. **“Never mind, it doesn’t matter.”** You go on, eyes shifting away from your assailants and towards your strawberries. You had wanted to cry, hues stinging upset.

“**Here hold this.”** You pushed the pot towards John and instinctively he accepts, expression twitching into confusion as he watched you move pass between him and the Bowery. **“Breakfast, you guys look like you need some.”** You began and his gaze darting towards the King who only shrug in response and followed after you. **“Didn’t think any adjudicator would offer us breakfast!”** King laughed and John only found himself watching quietly as your body stiffen uncomfortable and strangely enough, _he felt bad_.

**“…You have a lovely garden.”** John cuts, words so idyllic that it had managed to make everyone stop on their tracks. The Bowery blinking in quiet surprise, as you turn and face him. You blinked once and twice, watched as this man stood towering and intimating, holding your pot of berries and complimenting your garden in scary seriousness. You couldn’t help but chuckle, a curt gentle laugh that seemed misplaced given the situation. You gave him a friendly smile, nod at him grateful. **“Thank you.”** John decides then that calm suits you best. 

**“I didn’t think the legendary John Wick is a plant man either!”** The Bowery King finally howled in amusement making John frown, he sighs tired. **“I’m not.”** He says, walking ahead of him and settling behind you though somehow making sure not to come too close, a comfortable distance for you and him.


End file.
